


The Scripted Lines

by TheInsightfulLlama



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst, Except Joey, Gen, Henry is only able to do what you can do when you play as him, Henry is tired and living in hell, I felt it was warranted, I'll try to add tags if I realize I missed something, Introspection, Joey is the worst, Josey is the name I gave Henry's daughter, Kinda? Figure I'll put a warning just in case, Lack of Free Will, Most characters are only mentioned or implied to be there, One-Shot, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Loop, but I tried to keep it kinda hopeful so there's that, everyone deserved better, loss of free will, one swear word, redid the summary to better reflect the content, yeah it only barely occurred to me that this is angsty whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 13:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInsightfulLlama/pseuds/TheInsightfulLlama
Summary: Henry is trapped. Trapped in the studio, trapped in a time loop, trapped in his own body. Every choice that is available isn't really a choice, just another plot point to be checked off in Joey Drew's perfect story. Another reminder that Henry is a pawn in a game that will never have a winner.Yet even in the bubbling ink of hell, a tiny spark of hope is occasionally found. Often in the place least expected.





	The Scripted Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Hi ya'll! First time posting to this site! Let me know it I made any glaring errors. This is the first time I've written in a very long time, but I hope you all enjoy anyway!
> 
> Edit 11/24/18: Changed the summary to better fit the story content.

Every story has roles that need to be filled. This is pretty obvious, even to an audience member. No spy can function without his trusty hacker and gadget maker. A knight needs a princess to save. And who would even think of creating a villain without a hero to defeat them?

The problem is, no one ever stops to consider that sometimes, you don’t enjoy the role assigned to you. 

Henry knew what he was supposed to be. It was obvious enough, even without Joey practically shoving it in his face every chance he got. He was the unwilling hero, the unflappable protagonist. He had come to the studio at the request of a dear friend, and though it was hard, he was to defeat the ink demon. That was the way the story went. The only way it ever went, no matter what decisions Henry made or how much he wanted to find another way. Because choice was just an illusion, really. He could only do what the script dictated. And that, well, that was very limited. After all, Joey had a very specific task in mind for Henry. Why would he waste time on things that didn’t push the protagonist closer to completing that task? Why would Henry need to sleep? Why would he need to talk out of turn? And honestly, when would the amazing hero Henry ever have reason to cry? Ridiculous. 

Honestly, it was faster to list the things he COULD do. He would swing an axe, or whatever weapon he managed to get. He could walk, and walk slightly faster. (In the places that weren't blocked by invisible walls or ink.) He could speak his lines with the inflections he chose. He could slightly widen his eyes and open his mouth. He could punch in. And he could try to open doors. 

Nothing else was available to him. 

And so Henry lived in a limbo, feeling and suffering inside while he remained stoically determined on the outside. The words he got to say were few and far between, and felt hollow as they were forced out of his throat. Said in so many different ways as he hoped by some miracle what he really wanted to say would find its way through. 

“Who put this here!?” _Bendy, I know it’s you. You can come out. I don’t want to hurt you._

“Hello! Excuse me! Can you help me? Hello?” _You pray one time at work and Joey thinks your a cultist. Must have driven you up the wall, huh Sammy?_

“Boris! Oh God, what has she done to you!?” _I’m so sorry Boris. I’m so sorry. Please, next time, don’t come looking. Stay hidden. Stay away from me. I’m so sorry._

“My name is Henry.” _Your name is Allison Pendle. You were always in time to work. You loved to sing. Your husband loves you so much. You deserve so much better than here. I’ll find a way to get you out of here._

“The ink demon has something we need.” _Do you remember? Do you know? I don’t want to do this. If you know, give me some sign. Please help me. I can’t keep doing this._

“The End.” _Joey, you self righteous bastard. You made this monster yourself. I’m sick of cleaning up your messes._

“Well Joey, I’m here. Let’s see if I can find what you wanted me to see.” _This is all a sick game to you, isn’t it? Do you think I can’t feel it when I die? Is it fun to think of new ways to torture me? Do you have fun telling the story of how you destroyed everything you ever loved to an innocent child? MY child? Don’t you dare think for a second I don’t remember every time you made this hell worse, you sick animal. How dare you pretend to be my friend._

He was given so little, only barely enough to keep the story going. At the start, there was always more. The hero didn’t know what he was getting into, after all. More reactions were needed. But as time went on, the protagonist would inevitably get used to all the crazy things. So he would be quiet, stoic, determined. Unfeeling.

In the first loops, so long ago, there had been brief stretches of freedom. Henry could barely remember that time, but he knew the story had been different then. Not quite so dark. Not quite so hopeless. There would be stretches of time where he could feel Joey stop watching so intently, and in those times, the control on him loosened. He wrote on the walls then, kicked things, screamed. Just reveled in the idea of doing whatever he pleased. 

That hadn’t happened in a very long time. Henry was beginning to doubt that it ever would. 

Henry saw the lost ones and he wanted to stay. He wanted to talk to them, to hug them, to make sure they knew that he wouldn’t forget, to make sure they knew that he would find a way to get them out of this hell. 

The protagonist observed them for a moment, then moved on to the next step in his mission, determination slightly hardened. 

Henry saw what Bendy had become and he wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to march straight back through the door and beat Joey to a pulp. He wanted to grab the sad, emaciated thing that wore Bendy’s smile and wipe away all the layers of corruption that stained his little devil darling. 

The protagonist ran and hid, holding his breath as the unspeakable evil passed him by without noticing. That had been a close call. 

Henry listened to Joey’s ending speech, and anger rose in him like a deadly river. He wanted to leap across the counter top and choke him. He wanted to scream back every single contradiction in Joey’s words. He wanted to drag Joey kicking and screaming into the studio and force him to look at how many lives he was destroying. 

The protagonist calmly went back through the door, starting the same story over again because Joey had asked this simple task of him. He would do anything for Joey. Joey was his best friend. 

Some days, it was all Henry could do to put one foot in front of the other. Some days, he couldn’t even do that. Days when the future felt so bleak and cold that dying over and over felt preferable to the monotony. He would remain standing in the same hallway, often for hours at a time, unable to bring himself to move from where he was. The Ink Demon killed him a lot on those days, ripping into his unmoving target with a savagery that made Henry despise Joey all the more. 

On days like that, you had to savore the tiniest bits of comfort. Often found in the most unlikely places. 

*LINEBREAK*

The first time Henry did it, it was completely by accident. 

He had just finished off a batch of searchers and was searching for some bacon soup to stave off the fatigue when he saw the punch in clock. He sighed inwardly and headed over. He didn’t fully understand the purpose of the stations, but he did know that if you didn’t punch in, he generally ended up a lot further back than he wanted when he died. It also usually meant that a bigger fight was coming. Exactly what I wanted for Christmas. Thanks Joey. He sighed inwardly again, vaguely registering the chime that sounded as he finished. He turned back to the hall, hefting his axe. Guess it’s back to the old grind.

“Back to the old grind.”

Henry froze, his mind stopping in its tracks. He slowly turned back to the machine. Had- had he just spoken? It had been his voice. He had felt his mouth moving. But how? The phrase was a one off joke, definitely not necessary for the story. Had he imagined it? Was he hearing voices now? That must be it, it had to be. No way Joey would let him say something so inconsequential and, frankly, fatalistic. Just to be sure, Henry attempted to repeat the phrase. 

Nothing. Not even a tightening of the throat. Like always. Despite having decided that the phrase had been imagined, Henry couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Though inconsequential, being able to spout a tired one liner would have been a blessing. He had thought it, and then he’d imagined saying it. It had seemed so real, and had felt so good to say what was in his head for once. He should have known it was too good to be true. And yet-

Henry refocused on the punch machine. It sat there innocently, doing nothing. Hesitantly, fearing the disappointment that would surely come, Henry punched in again, this time focusing on speaking the phrase he had so innocently thought earlier. 

“Back to the old grind.” The words came as easily as any one of his scripted lines, but it flowed naturally, sounding out through the empty space around and echoing back to the startled speaker. Henry almost choked, his eyes as wide as he was able to have them. The words- they were his. They were completely his and he could say them. I can say them. I can speak.

Henry couldn’t cry- it was beyond him, as speech had been. But in that moment, as he hunched over and tried desperately to quell the emotions inside him, you could almost be fooled into thinking he could. 

*LINEBREAK*

Henry experimented with the punch machines after that. He started with the original phrase alone, often spending hours at a time at one machine, relishing how he could say the words as many times as he wanted and however he wanted, knowing that they came entirely from him and only him. Then he decided to try other phrases, little jokes about the monotony of work and the ridiculousness of his situation. Not all of them stuck, but each time one did, Henry became a little more confident. Before long, he had an entire repertoire.

“Punching in.”

“Another day, another dollar.”

“Better get overtime for this.” 

“Always on time.”

It wasn’t much. By most standards, it was barely anything. But Henry cherished the little jokes, the tiny amount of wiggle room the punch stations gave him. He didn’t know how it was possible. Maybe it was thanks to Josey. That was his prime theory. Maybe Joey didn’t know about it. Maybe it was simply in character for the stoic protagonist to spout a witty one liner every once in awhile. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. When things took a turn for the worst, when it seemed like he couldn’t go on any longer, he would sometimes spend hours by a punch machine, repeating his limited number of original lines. It reminded him that even in this looping hellscape, there was some form of tiny freedom to be had. It reminded him that one day, he was going to get out. He was going to find a way to break this cycle and really, truly, set all of them free. 

Even if it was the last thing he ever did.

**Author's Note:**

> So what did you guys think? Please, let me know! I'm always trying to improve, so constructive criticism is welcome! If anyone knows how to insert linebreaks, I will love you forever. I appreciate you all making it this far! Cheers!
> 
> (For those confused, Henry can only do what YOU can do when you play him in the video game. Came up with the idea when I was considering why Henry hadn't escaped the loop yet. Under this story canon, it's because he literally can't make different choices. Or do much of anything except suffer. Sorry buddy. I'll make a happy ending for you at some point, I swear.)


End file.
